


Daydreams and Freedom

by Clamour_for_Glamour



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 70s music references, Character survived au, Post-Canon Fix-It, Recovery, contains lyrics, musicians are often quirky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-04
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2020-01-04 22:19:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18352847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clamour_for_Glamour/pseuds/Clamour_for_Glamour
Summary: Post wizarding war Sirius-lived AU snapshots.





	Daydreams and Freedom

Dumbledore was gone, the war was over, Harry had returned to Hogwarts to complete his seventh year and Sirius was finally, finally, free of Grimmauld Place.

It had been Harry's suggestion that he get a new motorbike. It was a huge, growling, silver and black machine and when he rode it, whether in the sky or on the road, it made his heart soar. Hermione had done an undetectable extension charm on the saddlebags for him, he'd put in one of the Weasley's old tents and... he was free.

Not locked inside number twelve or Azkerban, not hiding for his life in caves or islands hundreds of miles away. Just roaming the UK and Europe on his bike, talking when he wanted to using the two way mirror. He could send an owl and be recognised doing it without being in danger.

Sometimes it seemed like it would all vanish, like it was a dangerous joke that had been played on him, and he would vanish into mountains and forests for weeks at a time, barely checking in and not telling anyone where he was. But he spent just as much time sprawled on beaches, propping the mirror in the sand to show George some beautiful muggle girl lounging in a bikini behind him.

"Sirius, mate, you're 38."

"She's still giving me the eye, though."

He usually pretended to be a musician when he interacted with non wizards. He'd found it excused any amount of odd clothing and eccentricity. His hair fell to his mid back in dark shining waves, and he'd learned a charm to stop it tangling from the wind. He couldn't bear to cut it much, because growing it out had been the first thing he'd ever done to defy his family, to be Sirius, not just another Black. But the long years in prison had made him hate having it tangled at all, from how matted it had been.

"You got your guitar?"

"Yeah." He carried it slung across his back most of the time. Molly Weasley had given it to him out of the blue, and he'd been shocked because he'd been convinced she tolerated him for Harry's sake. But she was a different woman when she wasn't afraid for her family, and they got on well these days. Although she still told him off if she ever saw him holding a beer.

"I'm going to see how long it takes her to strike up a conversation. I'll irritate you with the details later, alright?" 

He sat up and reached for the guitar, checking the tuning before picking out a piece he remembered from before his time in Azkaban, and softly sang along.

"There's a lady who's sure, all that glitters is gold..."

The girl glanced over and smiled at him, before putting on her sunglasses and stretching out in the sun. He considered striking up a conversation but decided that at the moment he was happy to sit on the beach, feeling the heat of the sun on the back of his shirt and the gentle breeze ruffling his hair. A couple of coins clinked into his motorcycle helmet, and he nodded at the man who had thrown them. The idea that someone was impressed enough with his playing that they would pay him, even if it was muggle money, was marvellous. Not fighting, not healing, not teaching. Not politics. Just... enjoying himself. And someone appreciated it.

"And the forests will echo with laughter..."

Perhaps he would visit a forest next. The quality of the light was changing. The sun was still fierce, but soon the evening would cool as it sank towards the horizon. He stared at the reflections on the waves, his fingers plucking at the guitar automatically, not even aware that he continued to sing. Forests... somewhere with miles and miles of nothing but trees. Maybe a lake. Not mountains, this time. Were there forests like that in flat places? Geography had never been his strong suit. 

"And she's buying, the stairway, to heaven..." 

"Hi, do you take requests?"

"I'm sorry?" He was startled; he hadn't realised the song had ended. The girl was propped up on her elbows, grinning at him. She looked to be somewhere between twenty-five and thirty, with long auburn curls. 

"I really like seventies music and you have a nice voice - a little bit hoarse but it suited the song. I wondered if you knew any others?" Her smile shrank, as if she was worried she had said something foolish. He winked at her in reassurance, tossing his head so the sun would shine off his hair and show off his cheekbones, and started to pick out another tune. She smiled as she recognised the introduction and closed her eyes when he began to sing.

"So, so you think you can tell..." 

She seemed nice. Maybe they would go to the village pub later. Maybe she'd offer to let him spend the night. But for the moment he would keep playing his guitar and singing as he watched the sunset over the ocean, perfectly content.

"The same old fears, wish you were here."


End file.
